“Right?” I replied. “Like I need my bird and squirrel friends to help me, too.”
I sighed and slumped in my seat. I felt all my bones turn to jelly as soon as she left the room. Staying upright was sapping me of my remaining energy, so I propped my elbow on the counter and rested my head in my hand.
Why was I so overwhelmingly tired?
“You understand she’s a bitch like that because she’s jealous of you, right?” Braden said.
Maybe that’s why she’s never liked Braden; he sees right through her.
Liam isn’t snowed by her either, but he’s a lot better at hiding it. Liam’s perpetually polite, deferential, even pretends to flirt with her, which she completely eats up. In a lot of ways, Liam’s like my dad, defaulting to smiling and gritting his teeth when it comes to dealing with her because that’s the path of least resistance.
No wonder Dad puts in fourteen-hour days.
Braden, on the other hand, has no interest in trying to charm her.
I looked over at him and we locked glances. Were his eyes always flecked with bits of gold leaf? Seems like I’d have noticed that before.
“Why would she be jealous of me?” I asked.
He shrugged and then hopped onto the chair closest to me. I felt heat radiating from him, warming up this room that’s perpetually chilly due to all the glass in the solarium.
“’Cause you’re awesome,” he told me. The corners of my mouth began to tug upward. “’Cause you’ll always be younger and hotter and smarter than her. ’Cause she’ll feel better about herself if she’s able to make you feel small. Take your pick.” That made me think of the time Braden warned me to never accept an apple from my mother—said she gave him Evil Queen from Snow White flashbacks.
He put his arm around me and brought me in for a side hug, and I was enveloped by the scent of clean cotton and ocean breezes and the wintergreen Tic Tacs he perpetually chews. (His running joke is that he has a two-pack-a-day habit.)
This gesture—or maybe it was his words—made my insides twist. I had this overwhelming urge to bury my face into his neck and inhale. Something about Braden always made me want to melt into him, to seek him out like a sheltered harbor in a tempestuous sea.
But I stopped myself because that seemed wrong.
I felt like sharing this moment of intimacy or discussing my problems made me somehow unfaithful to Liam. I know it sounds weird, but Liam’s supposed to be the one I talk to about my issues with Mom. He’s my ride or die, not Braden. Plus, I worry that Theo would be upset if he saw Braden and me this close. We’re all great friends but if I were to inadvertently cross a line, Theo would be upset.
I jumped up and out of Braden’s grasp.
“Gotta go,” I said.
Braden looked hurt and his fallen expression weighed on my heart, which only served to confuse me more.
“I do something wrong, Mal?”
I’m always surprised at how easily Braden can express himself. He perpetually cuts right to the chase and isn’t afraid to say what he feels. He’s probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met; I’m astounded that he doesn’t have a serious girlfriend.
“What? No. No, not at all,” I stammered, trying to tamp down the butterflies in my perpetually empty stomach. “I remembered I have to give Mr. Gorton a call. I’ll be heading up Novus Orsa next fall and I need to get on that.”
“A’ight,” he said, lapsing into the bro-speak he normally reserves for conversations with teammates. “That sounds like it could be tight.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, while lying my ass off. “So tight.”
I collected my things and skittered away but when I got to the doorway leading to the back staircase, I glanced at Braden over my shoulder.
He was watching me walk away from him.
Like I always do.
Like I always fucking do.
Yo Mama
7:56 AM
Stephen, I’m reminding you to practice your oboe tonight for AT LEAST an hour. This slacking’s out of hand.
7:58 AM
When can I review your practice admission essays? Did you leave them out? I don’t see them.
8:01 AM
Who’s teaching Macroeconomics? Mrs. Bachman or Mr. Ellicott? If you get Ellicott, ask to change to Bachman. Ellicott’s too easy.
8:02 AM
Hello? Are you even getting these?
7
KENT
“We’re gonna be us, only a better version.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply with zero enthusiasm.
Stephen insists, “No, Kent and Stephen, 2.0. I mean it, man. This is it. This is our year.”
The whole walk to school, Stephen’s been sharing his plan for World Domination. I’ve smiled and nodded, but I’m not putting much stock in his words.
I hear this speech every first day of school, like clockwork.
While Stephen actually believes himself, he perpetually forgets that the second something goes the tiniest bit awry—like we have to play dodgeball in gym class or the cafeteria runs out of Sloppy Joes or he gets an A—instead of an A+—that’s it, game over. His whole demeanor changes and he slips into a funk that’s so not commensurate with whatever tiny disappointment it is he’s suffered.
Don’t get me wrong; I’d love for this to be our year. I’m all about World Domination and I would rock Kent and Stephen 2.0. But I can’t be Mr. Hells, Yeah, Bro! because I have to straddle a fine line between supporting him and managing his expectations. If I’m too enthusiastic, then I’m the one who deals with the inevitable fallout when situations don’t turn out exactly like he’d built up in his fantasies.
Maybe having Simone in the mix will help. At least I won’t be solely responsible for keeping him on an even keel.
“Yo, check it out, our girlfriends are at the coffee cart together,” Stephen says, poking me in the ribcage.
“Wait, what?” I reply.
“Cheers!” Simone calls from across the quad. That’s when I notice that she’s in line next to Mallory.
My Mallory.
My stomach clenches in fear and anticipation before the caveman portion of my brain takes over. Then I stand as straight as I can, chest up, shoulders back, chin down, wishing desperately I’d done a set of pushups this morning to get my swole on. Granted, I’d have to do “girl” pushups, which is a total misnomer, considering I’ve seen Mallory do the full military press kind in gym class. Would not be surprised if she could even go one-handed.
(Mental note: start doing pushups.)
My current unimpressive stature isn’t going to capture my future girlfriend’s attention, so I decide to aim for charisma. We make a beeline over to them. I will never be the biggest or the baddest or the best player on the field, but I can be clever. I can be delightfully idiosyncratic. Hell, Stephen Hawking can land ladies—they’ve even made movies about it.
This is not an insurmountable challenge.
And as soon as Mallory stops terrifying me?
I’m golden.
“Oy, guv’nah!” I reply, with my best terrible English accent. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.”
Mallory winces.
Yeah, might have overshot the charming mark.